Undervalued
by Persassius Jackson
Summary: 'As a facet of his psychic abilities, it's incredibly difficult for him to feel pain - let alone be hurt in the first place. But it appeared that Kusuo had hurt himself somehow, anyway.' (Or the Saiki-centric sick!fic that literally no one asked for - not even me.)


Waking up, Kusuo decides, should not be like this.

As a facet of his psychic abilities, it's incredibly difficult for him to feel pain - let alone be hurt in the first place.

But it appeared that Kusuo had hurt himself somehow, anyway. His stomach clenched, and he clasped his hands around his ears in a futile attempt to avoid telepathically broadcasting anything to his parents. Sweat - not tears - beaded around his eyes as he squeezed them together, as if to avoid waking up; to avoid facing reality and all the _noise,_ and _the white hot pain_ behind his eye.

Being a psychic was nothing like fiction made it out to be: drawbacks were everywhere; almost as if every action he made was signing a contract that paid everything back in tenfold. Kusuo's thoughts feverishly flash back to the silver Germanium ring he'd worn yesterday. Was this a drawback to it?

Hyperventilating a little, Kusuo forced himself to slow his ragged breathing down, and focuses on restoring himself to yesterday's state of being.

Hopefully he'd be able to buy himself more time before ...whatever it was came back again.

How troublesome. _And on a school day as well..._

 **III**

Saiki Kusuo is a psychic. An esper, if you will.

Despite being only sixteen, Kusuo has a conundrum many adults would never even contemplate: how to keep his powers underwraps. Of course, some - like immediate family and his grandparents - already know, but that is to be expected.

The esper's powers are near unlimited: cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, telekinesis, telepathy - you name it, Kusuo has it. And, let him repeat, it is nothing but suffering.

Not to say that they don't come in useful - take the twenty-four hour restoration that morning for example - but there's only so much that reduced travel time can make up for near perpetual sensory overloads. With peers like his classmates, Kusuo's surprised he hasn't collapsed from their thoughts and yelling. What a pain.

Even as Kusuo walks to school, he can hear the thoughts of his classmates rise in intensity. His head begins to pound along to its own beat, almost mimicking the episode this morning.

The thought makes something heavy settle in the boy's stomach, because he hasn't been sick in years - what's causing it? ...He wasn't ill yesterday.

As far as he knows, Kusuo hasn't had a prophetic dream this morning, and no one else seems to have any illnesses today. His mother is, as always, healthy as a horse, and Kusuo's father was already at work. There was no explanation for Kusuo's current problem.

...It's almost exciting - to have a challenge, that is.

(Maybe that's a reason why his older brother relished challenging him so much?)

Walking into the modern school building, Kusuo puts on his indoor shoes, noticing idly that none of his ...peer group was at school yet. He can hear the shrill mental shrieks of Teruhashi as she is surrounded by sycophants, and her perverted brother. If Kusuo didn't know the girl better, he'd almost feel pity towards her.

Tuning out her thoughts, Kusuo's fingers itch for the geranium ring - a trinket that could block his telepathy. Even in the corridors of a school as small as PK academy was, the stimulation he was getting from cooped up teenagers made a prickling sensation burst to life behind his eye.

Kusuo's lasted for sixteen years without that ring, though - and in school, it's just not worth the surprises he gets. Honestly, Kusuo should just begin to wean himself off of the ring before he becomes too dependant on it... Kusuo hasn't had an overload like this in years - perhaps he's desensitised himself to his telepathy. He doesn't know, and the feeling is foreign.

Kusuo dislikes many things: attention, feelings, loss of control... but he hates not knowing.

Loathes it - it makes his breath quicken, and stomach clench.

His thoughts hazy...

But it's not the time, nor the place. Kusuo can feel one of his acquaintances nearing - seemingly annoyed by something (or someone) that Kusuo cannot sense.

Ah, Nendou and Kaidou - his two 'followers'.

This is really the _last_ thingthat he needs.

Kusuo has lived for all of his life not wanting or needing friends, and considers himself the epitome of an introvert; what's the point in interaction if he already knows what will happen?

The true reason that Kusuo dislikes Kaidou - for all his eighth grader syndrome is irritating, the kid has a good heart and intentions - is how _draining_ the boy could be to an introvert like Kusuo.

But the real reason why Kusuo can't stand _Nendou_... is because Nendou is an enigma.

Yes, Kusuo - even with his head throbbing and muscles stiffening - could take him on in a fight, but he wouldn't know that he _had_ to. Nendou is so idiotic that he has no thoughts that Kusuo can pick up on, but that's why being around Nendou is so stressful.

If the man decided to attack Kusuo, Kusuo wouldn't be able to defend himself.

"Saiki!" Kaidou cries, his uniform as scruffy and ridiculous as ever.

"Partner," Nendou brightens up upon seeing Kusuo - his ridiculously disproportionate face scrunching up like a pug's. "Let's go grab ramen!"

Kaidou twirls around to face Nendou, and shouts, "How many times - Saiki doesn't want to get anything with you! Besides, we're in school, right now."

Oh, yes. School. How could Kusuo have forgotten?

...There's so many thoughts...

Silly things, teenage things. Where else could Kusuo be hearing them with such clarity?

Kaidou is frowning now, his eyebrows coming together as he hesitantly asks, "Hey, Saiki...? Are you okay?"

Arching an eyebrow, Kusuo gives a curt nod. He can't believe how much it made his frontal lobe ache, though.

Nendou slings an arm around him, and Kusuo tenses at the proximity.

"Nothing ramen won't fix!" the brute yells, all but in Kusuo's ear. He can't help but wince a little at the volume.

"Hey!" Kaidou shouts again, "You're annoying Saiki again! And ramen fixes nothing... For this - _this_ \- is clearly ... _Dark Reunion's_ plan!"

Kusuo brushes Nendou off, ignoring his shouts, focusing instead on how a supernova has exploded behind his eye, and the school corridors swim in and out of sight like waves. By this point, all that's preventing Kusuo from inconveniencing any of his fellow students is his telepathy.

Good thing that he's not wearing the ...whatever-it-was ring.

Saiki Kusuo hates not knowing. So it makes his pulse quicken as he realises that his infallible memory has failed him. Breathing in and out, the telepath steadies himself before entering the classroom.

Instantly, Kusuo is assaulted by a wave of regret and intensity.

It's not to say that the classroom itself is the problem - it's pretty standard, he thinks, of an underfunded high school, with worn desks and washed out classroom displays - it's the people. Kaidou and Nendou, for all their eccentricity, are not the only notable figures in their class.

Their class rep, Hairo, is - in a word - passionate. Everything he does is passionate. Including screaming a greeting at the top of his lungs. Hairo isn't one for subtlety.

"Saiki! Nendou! Kaidou! Good morning!" the brunette shouts. Somehow, he's sweating intensely from doing nothing at all. "Let's all do our best today!"

 _No,_ Kusuo thinks, _let's not. I just want to go to my desk._

Hairo crowds around the newcomers, cheering about something or another - his arm slinging itself over Kusuo's shoulders.

(Why have his classmates acquired the tendency to scream into his ears? Honestly, Kusuo doesn't know what he did to deserve this.)

Somehow slumping into his desk, Kusuo tries to listen to ...whoever it is rambling about something or another, and not the simmer of tension below his skin. He doesn't think he's doing very well.

Fatigued, Kusuo stares ahead, watching how the black hole in his vision retracts and expand, trying to make sense of the blurry outlines surrounding him. Is this what needing glasses would feel like...?

Maybe Kusuo should give his father more credit. This is awful.

A figure - Teruhashi, he thinks, judging by the pulsating smear of azure something in his vision - softy shakes Kusuo's tense shoulder, and gently asks something.

Someone else flails a little. The sudden motions make Kusuo's head spin and he sucks in a shallow breath. Closing his eyes would help a little, he thinks.

The oasis of darkness soothes him - like the Antarctic ocean that he once teleported to as a child, but he can't help but be hyper-aware of his physical symptoms, now.

The headache has lessened in its intensity, but still throbs along to his heartbeat; the psychic isn't sure if he's hot or cold, and his muscles are cramping from how tense he feels.

Is. How tense he _is._

The thoughts make something cold roll in his stomach, and a burst of something akin to worry ignites in his palpitating chest.

This has never happened before. Kusuo doesn't even know how to articulate what he's feeling exactly, which is utterly terrifying. It feels like that time he went to the cinema with the ring on - vulnerable and raw.

The telepathic input of his classmates' thoughts are tapering off, and quietening, and it makes Kusuo break out into an involuntarily panicked sweat (that he manages to dispel the majority of), but is besides the point.

Anyone could attack him right now - could shove a sharpened pencil down his throat and he'd choke and die. The tension in his muscles lessons enough for him to sway a little. Something warm and solid reaches out to steady him, for which he is uncharacteristically grateful.

He is less grateful for the warmer hand against his forehead - hot like a flame - and the worried, ear-splitting shrieking afterwards. They make the headache return with a vengeance.

Agonised, Kusuo squeezes his eyes a little tighter, and tries to focus on something other than the pain. Something like the sudden warmth against his side, or the sudden feeling of weightlessness, or even the rocking sensation as he was being moved.

Moved? To where? And how?

Opening his eyes a little, Saiki sees white. Indistinct, but he thinks it's a shirt. _...Feels_ like one. Whose shirt is it, though?

Whoever it is, they're strong enough to carry him, which means that it can't be Kaidou...?

...Kusuo's kind of glad that the kid isn't seeing him like this. It would be undeniably embarrassing.

The sounds are picking up again, and each one makes his pounding head feel like it's being pierced with an ice-pick. The telepath can barely distinguish thoughts from spoken words - what if he slips up? He's seen how being unable to tell the difference being the mundane and the supernatural can affect you.

One of the voices - _loudloudloud_ \- is saying something to whoever's carrying him. It almost sounds like Hairo - but Hairo's never been that concerned or soft sounding. Maybe it's a classmate?

But whoever the voice belongs to has convinced Kusuo's carrier to swiftly turn around; the cool air is a relief to his forehead, but the motion makes his left side explode in afflictions - he can't help but whine beneath his breath at the pain.

It feels like two rough pebbles - grinding together, with bits chipping off; making his everything itch and scream, and Kusuo is infinitely grateful for his limiters as his powers whip and lash beneath his control. It's taking all that he has to not blow something up.

Or throw something up.

 **III**

Kusuo has never felt sick before in his life.

It is, in his humble opinion, utter hell. Being sick makes his telepathy woes feel like a blessing, and his telepathy is Kusuo's personal hell.

Normal people feel this much pain normally?

Kusuo can't help but feel a little awed by the previously vapid faces passing by his window. Certainly, he has infinite respect for his classmates now, and it makes his stomach sink and face flush to remember what happened two days ago.

A migraine, his mother had said. Unfortunately, the Saiki family has a long, long history of migraines that skipped her generation.

Freshly woken from drifting off, Kusuo is sitting in his room now - surrounded by familiar tomes and cream walls.

His body is relaxed, and mind still a little woozy from his abrupt awakening.

Somehow the psychic's internal clock had been askew since he spent forty-seven hours in the throes of the migraine, and it makes waking up for school a pain.

Whilst shrugging on his uniform, Kusuo mildly hopes that no one will comment on his absence or sickness.

 **III**

They don't, really - and if they notice that Kusuo is a little more tolerable than usual, they don't comment on that either.

Sometimes, life isn't as bad as he makes it out to be.

 ** _Fin._**

 _Notes: sorry guys - this is my first ever fanfic, but I really enjoyed writing it. (Although, honestly, I don't think that I would've even tried if this fandom had more people in it, lol.)_

 _A few pointers if anyone's paying attention:_

 _Before anyone asks, "Why didn't Saiki's twenty four hour reverse work?" I have an awnser, which is very well thought out - ...drama._

 _I'd like to mention that I've never had a migraine before, so take all of this with a grain of salt, lmao, pal._

 _Saiki ended up being OOC at the end, but I don't really care, haha, so we'll all have to deal._

 _Have a nice day!_


End file.
